"Shit, I know What you told Jerry. And when you sent my check back, I got your message loud and clear, doll. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about. No bribes, no threats. And by the way, in case you were worrying, I burned all that film. Negatives, prints, everything. Goddammit, will you sit still? You almost spilled your drink."
"I—you—" She was stuttering and couldn't help it. Her eyes blazed into his. "Whatever you're up to this time, I'm not buying, do you hear?"
He went on as if he hadn't heard her, speaking quietly and concisely, as if he were reading from a list. "If you're still concerned about Francie, she's okay. As I told you that night, Derek, in spite of the way he looks and dresses sometimes, is a psychiatrist. He specializes in disturbed adolescents. And Francie's a lot better off now than she was before—or would have been, let loose."
"Why are you telling me all this? Why bother to explain anything to me?"
&nbs
p; "Hell, I don't really know. Except that I thought I ought to get everything cleared up before I asked you to marry me."
She hadn't heard right, of course. Either that or she really was going crazy. He was, obviously. Or else he was playing one of his sick games with her, hoping to— hoping to what?
She was silent, staring at him, and he smiled mirthlessly.
"Look, Eve, I haven't ever proposed to a woman before. I guess it's one of the few things I haven't experienced. But I mean it for real."
"You can't!" She couldn't take her eyes off his face, feeling the blood drain from hers. "You can't think—"
Why didn't she wake up? Why didn't the flight attendant come back? Brant Newcomb—Brant Newcomb was asking her—no, he was telling her he wanted to marry her, and it was all some kind of a joke, a game....
He picked up his glass and drained it, still watching her. She saw him all over again as she had seen him first—a too-handsome, coldly arrogant stranger. A dangerous stranger. She didn't want to remember the last time she had seen him.
"I suppose you want reasons," he was saying formally. "And I have a couple I can put into words, I guess. You're the only woman I've ever known who kept on fighting and wouldn't let herself be bought off afterward. And then—there's the way Francie said you were with Lisa."
"Lisa? But how—I don't understand." She was mouthing words, any words. So much for ad libs.
"Francie didn't like you—you knew that, didn't you? But she did have a grudging kind of admiration for die way you drew her little sister out of her shell. She admitted you'd probably make a good mother, even if she didn't want you for hers."
"You—you seem to know a lot about me, but that's still no reason—"
"Will you just listen to me for a few moments longer, Eve? You're right, I do know a lot about you because I made it my business to find out. You're a bloody Puritan in some ways, and yet you like to fuck, but only when you're ready and when you want it—and that night you wouldn't give in, would you, you stubborn bitch? You made us take it, and even I had a rotten taste in my mouth afterward, when the goddam drug wore off. Shit, I don't know why, Eve. Maybe you've made me curious and I want to find out more about you. Or maybe it's just because I'm suddenly so sick and tired of the whole phony, sick routine—the endless, pointless rat race—going through the motions, one predictable move after another, and for what? Hell, maybe I want to be saved—my immortal soul, remember?"
His laugh was wry and short and not really laughter at all, and through all he'd said she could do nothing but sit there helplessly, no longer knowing what to say and feeling how damned unreal this all was. And without her realizing it, her eyes had dropped to his hands, one still holding the empty glass—the glinting gold hairs on the backs of them, the same strong, capable-looking hands that had hurt her and corrupted her body. How could she trust him now or believe anything he said?
"I—I don't really believe this is happening," she stammered at last, stumbling over the words. "I mean— I keep looking for the real explanation—for some kind of trickery. What is it, Brant? Do you need a front, is that it?"
"Damn you, no! That's too facile, Eve. You wouldn't know it, but when I say something, I usually mean it. I haven't really thought about marriage before, and I never thought I'd want to try it, either. But suddenly— it's the one trip I've never been on, Eve. And it's not just that. I'm sick of the life I lead, my so-called friends and hangers-on, and the searching, always searching for new lacks, and the boredom afterward when they're not new anymore. Having everything you want is really having nothing, baby. Stick around the swinging scene and you'll find out, too, and be just like everyone else. They'll grind you down and screw you to death, every way there is, and in the end you won't be anything, not even yourself."
"You've been there, I haven't...." The words seemed to escape her.
"Not yet. Do you want to? You can take that job in New York and find out. Have your affair with Randall Thomas, play it to a finish, and move on to someone else. Play the celebrity circuit, fuck on the side, and sliit—you'll stop fighting, won't you? You'll go to a lot of parties like mine and pretend you're enjoying them. It's your choice, baby. What I'm asking you to think about is the whole, old-fashioned bit, Eve. Marriage, kids, no other women for me and no other men for you. And if you're still afraid that I'm going to try to destroy you, I'll put half my money in your name the day we marry—Christ, you can have all of it if you'll have my children. Fuck the money, anyhow!"
"I—I still don't seem to understand what you're saying, Brant!" Eve squeezed her hands together in her lap, wondering why she was talking to him at all.
"Don't you? What I'm saying is, what can we lose? I '".very thing's a gamble, but if we can start out with no illusions, being honest with each other—hell, who knows?"
For the first time he touched her, putting his hands over hers to still their nervous, twisting motion.
"Eve, no swinging parties, no 'old friends,' no drugs. I promise you that. They gave you two weeks, didn't they? Stay with me. Find out. I won't try to coerce you, and I won't hurt you. You can walk out anytime you want to."
"You—my God, you're crazy! You're the rudest, most impossible, most arrogant man I've ever—"
Incredibly, he smiled at her with laugh crinkles showing around his eyes, and his hands squeezed hers.
"That's a feeling, and better than indifference, I guess. Maybe I can persuade you to change your mind. And if not, you're free to chicken out anytime you feel like it."
"Chicken out! My God, you leave me speechless, you—"